


W is for Weider Blutbad, Women and Whiskey

by Ambrosia_Ragweed



Series: Good Intentions [2]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Hardcore Emo, Infidelity, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Canon Compliant, Vomiting, drunk!Nick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:38:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia_Ragweed/pseuds/Ambrosia_Ragweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick has to deal with the end of his relationship with Juliette and his feelings for Monroe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	W is for Weider Blutbad, Women and Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote two sequels and couldn't decide which I liked better. This one is more intense/out of control. The other is more Hurt/Comfort and is posted at Grimm Kink. So, if you find this too angsty please check out the other and please leave feedback becouse I'm trying to write for this audience. 
> 
> http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/3689.html?thread=2380905#cmt2380905  
> look for fill parts 2 & 3
> 
> As always, I appreciate any comments, critizisms or randomness.  
> I do not own the rights to anything Grimm. This is fanfiction.  
> This fic was inspired in part by this song: http://youtu.be/CxwCLS-7eYA

For the first three days after sleeping with Monroe, Nick is so busy with a case involving a dead octogenarian, senior abuse, social security fraud and a missing orderly that he manages to almost forget what happened. On day four, he ends up telling Juliette over dinner. Day five, he shows up at Monroe’s house to talk over coffee and finds the Craftsman locked up and the Blutbad gone. Monroe isn’t answering his phone either. Juliette still isn’t talking to him. She does send a text though, “I need time to sort through my feelings.” He’s sleeps at the trailer, showers at the gym and lives on convenience store food and whatever he can cook on a little hibachi. If this is really the end, he’s going to have to find his own place. Day six, Monroe still hasn’t returned home. Nick is angry and getting worried. He knows he should’ve called before day five but couldn’t face the man. Juliette sends another text saying she wants to meet tomorrow to discuss things.

Nick sits on the top trailer step, drinking whiskey straight from the bottle. He loves Juliette but he needs Monroe. He isn’t sure how to reconcile those two things. 

He’s thinking that the security lights make it impossible to see any stars in the moonless night when a yellow VW Bug parks next to his truck. A broad shouldered lanky figure, gets out, and then walks towards the trailer. The light behind him shadows his face but Nick would know Monroe anywhere.

He wants to say, “I missed you,” and it’s what he knows he should say but not what he does say. “So you don’t answer your phone now?”

“How about “it’s nice to see you”?” Monroe quips, aggravation threading through his voice. “I dropped my cell in a puddle when I was in Grants Pass.” Monroe shakes his head at Nick’s blank expression. “Every year I do maintenance on a clock in Grants Pass. It’s on the calendar.” Exasperated he continues to explain, “The one hanging… What am I doing?” Monroe roughly runs his fingers through his hair and growls a little. “Look, Nick. I got your messages and your text. So here I am.”

“Want a drink?” Nick offers him the bottle. He can’t help the longing as he watches Monroe wrap his mouth around the Jonnie Walker and swallow a large gulp of whiskey. 

“I’m guessing since you’re living at the trailer that telling Juliette didn’t go well.”

Nick’s laughter sounds bitter and hollow. “Yeah…” He starts to say something snide but stops himself. 

Somehow Monroe gets the whole story out of him as they sit side by side, thighs pressed against each other, on the steps. 

Nick drunkenly shakes his head and looks beyond Monroe into the night with its false illumination _._ “But I’m a monster now. The boogey man. That’s what you called me. I guess we’re the same: the big bad wolf and the Grimm. Juliette is better off without me.” 

They sit silently for a while, passing the bottle back and forth. 

“This brings back memories, man, drinking whiskey and looking at the stars. Well, the four you can see with all the light pollution. All we need now is a bon fire.” Monroe drinks half of the tiny bit of whiskey left in the bottle, saving the last little bit for Nick. “I never would’ve guessed you’d shell out the money for Johnnie Walker.”

Nick leans back, holding himself up with his left forearm and elbow. “I found it stashed in a desk drawer.” He smiled at Monroe’s dubious expression. “Unopened. There was also a half bottle of Glenfiddich but I finished that yesterday.”

“Good because who knows what a Grimm would use whiskey for. How was the Glenfiddich? I love a good single malt. Well, I did, back when I used to drink, you know, the hard stuff.”

Nick wonders what it would be like to kiss a whiskey flavored Monroe; he buries the stabbing guilt. He should be alone doing penance, not lusting after his friend. 

Their fingers brush as they pass the bottle. They both pretend not to notice but their eyes connect and hold.

Nick pauses, the rim of the bottle an inch from his mouth. “You know as a cop I have to tell you that you’ve had above the legal limit. You shouldn’t drive home.” He finishes the whiskey. 

Monroe thinks hard and long before answering. “I’ll stay but no sex.” He wrinkles his nose and his brows shoot up in a v, “I mean it, Nick. No sex.” 

Later, they strip down to their boxers and try to find the least uncomfortable way two men can occupy one twin mattress. Nick laughs and Monroe grumbles but they figure it out. For the first time in days, something in Nick relaxes, just a little. He lays there breathing in Monroe’s scent and is anchored by the arm thrown around his chest that pins him to the Blutbad. 

Quietly whispering, Nick begins, “I’m sorry. I should’ve called you after…” His voice trails off and he can’t finish the sentence. 

“The next time I kiss you, I want you to only be thinking of me. I don’t want you thinking about who kissing me hurts.” Monroe whispers back. 

Because they both know that this thing between them isn’t over. 

He drifts off to sleep but it ends up being a whiskey nap and he wakes up to the world spinning. It takes him a few moments to realize that he is still a little drunk. 

He lays there loving the weight and strength and hardness of the body behind him, the arms that surround him. But then he remembers that tomorrow he has to meet Juliette and she’s going to want answers. Demand that he make a decision on who’s more important. Panic swells in his chest. Before he felt comfortably at home in Monroe’s arms, now he feels crushed. So, he very carefully untangles himself. Gets dressed and sneaks out. He knows where the nearest convenience store is and buys a couple of six packs. 

Monroe finds him when he’s one six pack down and starting on the second. He doesn’t say anything when Nick chuck’s a bottle at an empty building.  Smash. The brown glass explodes when it hits the brick. He thinks about all the nights he left Juliette sleeping in bed to spend time with Monroe; the morning coffee and phone calls. He can’t pretend it was a one night stand anymore. Nick drowns what’s left in the bottle. Chuck. Smash. The splintered broken glass catches the light as it lays in the dirt and gravel. A universe of glass stars reflecting an orange halogen sun. He grabs another beer, ignoring the silent stone-faced Blutbad, and takes another drink. Remembers what it was like kissing Monroe; remembers the expression on Juliette's face when he’d admitted to cheating. Finishes the bottle and smash, everything shatters. The six pack's almost gone. What will he do after he finishes the last one and there's nothing left to destroy? He doesn't know. So he drinks and he thinks and he remembers. The glass breaks. 

 

A car drives by catching Nick in its headlights. Finally, Monroe steps in and grabs his wrist when he reaches for another bottle.”Come on, we need to go before someone calls the cops.” 

“I am the cops.” Nick tells him, laughing at his joke. Monroe picks up the last couple bottles of beer and shoves them in his jacket pockets. He leads Nick on a twist of alleys and roads to the trailer. 

“Stay.” Monroe commands as he shoves Nick into the passenger seat of his Bug. He locks up the trailer and drives back to his house. “I never thought I’d end up babysitting you like this.”

Half way there, Nick starts talking about things he never ever talks about. He tells Monroe about the boy he had a crush on in high school, the guy he made out with in college and how much he liked kissing Monroe with his beard. Monroe tells him how he used to have threesomes with Angelina. His mouth starts to water, his stomach cramps and suddenly he knows that he’s going to be sick. Monroe pulls into a parking lot. Nick opens the door, takes a step, hunches over and everything comes out. A trickle even runs out his nose. Monroe hands him some water, he drinks what’s left of the bottle, and then vomits till he dry heaves, puking up bile. Nick wishes he was alone. He’s humiliated to have Monroe see him like this.

“Okay? Why don’t we get you back in the car?” Monroe reaches for his shoulder but Nick brushes him off.

“I’m fine. I’m just going to walk home.” Nick mutters and stumbles a step or two.

“Do you even know where you are?”

Nick looks around, the buildings are familiar enough he’s sure he can find his way home because suddenly he’s angry and has some things he wants to tell Juliette. He lifts his hand in a half hearted good bye wave then starts walking. Monroe’s suddenly there trying to direct him back to the car. He pushes him away. They argue, it almost gets physical, somehow he ends up back in the Bug and then he really spews, not vomit but all the sick rotten shit that eats away at him when he’s not looking. The fucked up shit he’s seen at crime scenes; the powerless rage of knowing someone’s being abused and that there’s no way to prove it so you have to send them right back to the people hurting them.

The more he says, the more there is to say. So, he starts telling Monroe about Poor Nick and how he fucking hates to be Poor Nick. Poor Nick to have lost his parents. Poor Nick to be the one left behind. Poor, poor Nick. How he got heard from the distant family that came to the funeral and the teachers and every time he would tell someone that Aunt Marie wasn’t his mother, that his parents were dead. They might not say the words out loud but he could read it on their faces. But he was Lucky Nick too. Lucky Nick because Aunt Marie took him in and he’d tried so hard, so fucking hard to be perfect. Got good grades, did well at sports, even joined art club because he was so grateful that she kept him. He was even fucking grateful to Juliette that she loved him; that she put up with all the shit that goes with being a cop. Then his Aunt just disappears and, when she comes back she’s dying of cancer. At this point, he’s sobbing and they’re parked in Monroe’s driveway. Because he misses her and he needs her. He punches the dash and the glove box pops opens. He keeps talking, even though the tears are choking him. He worked so hard to make a life, a good life, for himself when suddenly he’s a Grimm. And everyone expects him to know what to do when he doesn’t understand or know anything. He’s just faking it. And now Juliette says choose. How the fuck is he supposed to choose? He couldn’t make it without Monroe. Who would he talk to? Who would he have coffee with? 

“Seriously? Just tell Juliette. I’ll help you. We’ll find a way to convince her that you’re not bat shit insane.” Monroe interjects. 

No. No, he wants this, whatever this is that connects them; he wants it badly. He just doesn’t know how to leave everything he worked for behind.

“Dude, you still have your job and Hank.” Monroe reassures him. 

“Yeah, but for how long?” Nick asks him.

Monroe doesn’t have an answer and that’s about when Nick passes out on the sofa even though he doesn’t remember entering the house. 

The sun wakes Nick up. He’s in Monroe’s bed wearing a pair of his boxer shorts. Nick makes a run for the bathroom and worships the porcelain goddess. His head is pounding and he feels like the walking dead. He swooshes some water around in his mouth then spits it out. He finds Monroe downstairs scrubbing a sofa cushion. 

“Glad to see that you didn’t die from alcohol poisoning. For a minute there, I was worried.” Monroe glares. 

“Did we,” Nick asks hesitantly, “do anything last night?” 

“Are you asking if you passed out and pissed yourself on the sofa? Then the answer is yes, Nick, you did and then I, being a good friend, helped clean you up in the shower.” Monroe scrubs vigorously. “Next time, just say no to the whiskey.”He’s the one that keeps talking now. “Oh, and if I never hear another joke about how I used to eat people again in my life, I’ll be happy.”

Nick doesn’t know how to reply to that so he stays quiet. 

Monroe gets up, “follow me.” 

In the kitchen, Monroe mixes a packet of Emergency C into a tumbler of water. “Drink this.”

Nick drinks it down and knows he needs to say something. He’s just not sure what. So he does what he usually does with Monroe and skips the niceties to get straight to the point. “How did you get through the time between being a regular Blutbad and a Weider Blutbad?It cost you Angelina, didn’t it? How did you make the change?” 

Monroe makes coffee which Nick somehow manages to drink. They talk, not about a case or Wesen but about life. Eventually, they change subjects and end up discussing Nick’s drunken shenanigans. Monroe fills in the larger wholes with a hilarious play by play. Nick ends up laughing so hard that his chest hurts and he doesn’t even notice that they’re on day seven. He doesn’t even think about making the choice anymore because he accepts now that he made it the night they drank the cordial and knows he’s where he’s suppose to be. 


End file.
